


with blood and bourbon on our lips

by Sweven



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Assassin's Creed: Syndicate - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multi, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Open Relationships, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, Past Infidelity (implied), Probable misuse of historical colloquialisms, Rating May Change, Sibling Incest, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:29:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24387496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweven/pseuds/Sweven
Summary: A night of watching Jacob and Evie in the fighting ring leaves Ned wanting.Snapshots of a developing romance rife with misunderstandings, jealousy, and bourbon.(Not abandoned, I'm just very slow)
Relationships: Evie Frye/Henry Green | Jayadeep Mir (past), Evie Frye/Jacob Frye, Evie Frye/Jacob Frye/Ned Wynert, Evie Frye/Ned Wynert, Jacob Frye/Ned Wynert
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	1. Ned

It was a thing of beauty, Ned thought, to see Evie in the ring. The way she stood calmly in the middle of the ring and let the men come at her. How she calculated their moves in split seconds, dodged the first punch and went through the attackers like a whirlwind, unrelenting and merciless. Ned winced at the sounds of fists striking soft tissue, but he couldn't look away. Evie was usually meticulous, calm and collected in her every move, every breath, but now her shouts of exertion rang through the air. She was breathtakingly beautiful, Ned knew that he wasn’t the only one who could see it.

Her braids were starting to come loose at the end, the black hair surrounding her face as a dark halo. Sweat beaded on her upper lip, and her eyes were wild with the joy of the fight. Ned found himself needing to focus on breathing lest he do something as embarrassing as faint from not getting enough air.

Ned's fingers clenched around the railing as Evie let out a cry of pain when an attacker caught her unaware. She dropped to her knees for a moment and the Rook hesitated, a mistake the man wouldn’t make again, Ned was sure, because the wet crunch of cartilage and bone that resounded through the ring made everyone wince in sympathy. That nose would never look the same again.

Between one breath and another, Jacob appeared next to him, handing him a beer that Ned had no plan on drinking. “She’s a menace that one.”

Ned chuckled as Evie swept another man off his feet, he landed with a resounding thud. “Anyone who doesn’t realize that is a fool,” Ned said, a smile in his voice. Jacob scoffed and nodded in agreement. Both men looked intently at Evie as she finished up with the handful of Rooks who had been foolish enough to enter the ring. Efficient. Merciless. Beautiful. 

“It was good of you to come, Wynert,” Jacob said and when Ned looked at the other man,  _ actually _ looked at him, he had a hard time focusing on the taller man’s eyes. His attention was drawn to the tattoo on Jacob’s chest and suddenly, urgently further down. 

Ned shook himself, embarrassed at his lack of subtlety. It was unlike a gentleman to gape that way. He wasn’t the only one who stared, not by a long shot, but that was no excuse for impolite behaviour. Ned tried to convince himself that his fascination was simply rooted in the other man’s state of undress. How the assassin could be comfortable walking around half-naked, Ned would never understand. He made an effort to focus on Jacob’s words. “I half expected you to turn me down.”

Ned forced his mouth into what he hoped was a sardonic smile. “No favor too small, eh Frye?” he said and took a swig of the ale. Nasty stuff. Ned usually prided himself on how composed he was in any situation, but tonight was not his night. Even he couldn’t quite suppress a shudder at the taste. At least it made it easier to focus.

“Not to your liking, huh Wynert? Should’ve known you’d be more of a wine kind of guy. I’ll be sure to remedy that some time.”

Ned eyed the beer. “I’ll drink no wine you serve me, not after this rotgut. Are you trying to poison me?” 

He hadn’t noticed how close Jacob was until he looked up again. The man was on a step above him, which put Ned’s eyes squarely at Jacob’s very bare chest and Ned found that the tattoo there simply demanded his attention. Suddenly his mouth felt uncomfortably dry, and he took another drink of the awful beer, not even tasting it this time.

Jacob leant closer “Sweetheart, you should know by now that my methods are a bit more forward.” 

Ned tried to look at the other man’s face, but the smell of him was intoxicating and his eyes kept drifting downward, towards the tattoo and the dark hair leading a pathway down. By  _ God _ , he was a work of art. “I…” his voice trailed off, and Ned cursed himself.

There was a smirk lingering in the corners of Jacob’s lips, and he looked as if he might say something more, but Topping’s voice cut through the crowd. “Jacob Frye, everybody! Any fresh faces for our other reigning champion? If you’re quick, he might just go easy on you!” 

With a wink and a grin, Jacob turned towards the ring again and Ned felt the heat rising in his cheeks.

Halfway through the evening, Ned wasn't sure if Evie or Jacob were more captivating. They took turns in the ring, one relentlessly, often almost effortlessly beating down their opponents while the other kept watch over the crowd. This was a private event, as opposed to the few times Ned had been at a fighting ring before. At those, chaos had ruled supreme and vicious fights had broken out all over the place. The first time Ned didn’t leave until after someone died, the next he excused himself well before that point. 

Only the Rooks were supposed to be present today, but they all knew that the Blighters or some second-rate gangs might try to ruin the evening. As of yet, it was peaceful, and Ned found himself relaxing, despite his misgivings about coming. The beer that Jacob kept bringing Ned might’ve had something to do with that as well. Or maybe it was the charming smile he shot Ned whenever he caught him looking.

The evening was winding down. The Rooks were getting drunker by the minute, there were gambling and arm-wrestling matches all over the place. On the other side of the ring, Jacob was cajoling Topping into something that Ned couldn’t quite make out. Some eager recruits started going at it in the ring—letting off steam was something Ned could relate to, though he never saw the appeal of getting his knuckles bruised to do it.

Evie sat down next to Ned, dishevelled and breathing hard after winning another match, though this one seemed to have been a challenge. “So how’d Jacob convince you to come anyway?” A Rook brought her water and she drank deeply.

Ned suppressed the urge to tuck away the wayward strands of hair on her forehead. “Your brother can be very… persuasive, Miss Frye.” 

She let out a breathy laugh at that and leaned back on the crude wooden bleachers. Her arm touched Ned’s and he leaned into it without thinking. “That he can be indeed, Mr Wynert. That he can be indeed.”

They sat for a moment together and Ned revelled in the warm line of her arm against his. In the way her breathing was slowing steadily, and the way her skin glowed in the candlelight. He knew that he must be staring, but thankfully Evie wasn’t looking at him. Ever dutiful, she was keeping an eagle’s eye on the crowd.

“It’s good that you’re here, Mr Wynert. I know this must not be how you usually like to spend your evenings, but Jacob is glad that you’re here.” Evie glanced at Ned and he thought his heart might stop at the small smile on her lips. “ _ I’m _ glad that you’re here.”

“My evenings are usually filled with paperwork and bourbon,” Ned said. “It gets repetitive. I’m happy to have a night out filled with mindless violence and—“ a particularly vicious elbow to the face made the crowd roar, “ — _ loud _ uh. merriment.”

Evie let out a huff of laughter. “It’s not my usual pastime either. Paperwork and bourbon doesn’t sound like a terrible way to spend an evening though. I usually have to omit the bourbon.”

Before Ned could think, he leaned closer. “I’m more than willing to share mine, Miss Frye.” He hadn’t thought of how close his face was to hers, how he could feel her breath against his. He wanted to move away before it became awkward, before she thought him too forward, but for a second he entertained the idea of closing the distance. How would her lips feel against his? 

When he tore himself away, he thought he saw a shadow of  _ something _ on her face. Ned looked away, steeling himself. He wasn’t accustomed to revealing so much about himself and he found that he didn’t much enjoy it.

On the other side of the ring, Topping finally gave in and Jacob clapped the man on the back hard enough to make him stumble. "Ladies and gentlemen," Topping roared after picking up his hat and shooting Jacob a dirty look, "an unexpected treat has fallen into our laps, a grand way to end the evening! A fight between both the Frye champions!" Evie wiped her brow and shot a quizzical look at the bookie. "That is, if she accepts the challenge?" Topping's voice wavered at the end. The bookie looked like he suddenly regretted accepting Jacob’s play, and Ned chuckled to himself. The twins had a way of keeping even their allies off balance.

Evie's eyes found Jacobs. He was leaning on the railing, seemingly the image of nonchalance, but Ned saw the slight stiffness of his neck and knew that he was anything but relaxed.

"You think you can beat me, brother dearest?" Evie's smile was razor-sharp and though her voice was low, it cut through the silence of the crowd. Sitting next to her, Ned could feel the tension radiating off of her. 

Jacob shrugged. "You think you can't?" The crowd chuckled nervously.

Evie looked at him for five beats of Ned's heart, and just when he thought that she would scoff and turn down her brother (because really, risking them both getting injured? Them both being distracted even in the midst of friends? Foolish. Careless.), she jumped into the ring again and did a beckoning bow towards Jacob. "I accept the challenge."

A roar of approval went through the crowd, and even Ned sat up straighter, elation coursing through him.

With a maniacal laugh Jacob followed his sister into the ring, and as the two assassins circled each other Ned suddenly became fairly certain that he might go mad with desire.

Ned had thought that maybe the twins would avoid displaying their best moves. That they’d pull their punches, stick to the basics, and at first, it seemed that way. A strike that almost connected with a jaw. Footwork that seemed sloppy, even to Ned’s untrained eye. 

Then he realised that it wasn’t slow or sloppy and that no punches were being pulled. The twins were good enough that they made each other seem slow in comparison. When a brutal kick shattered one of the posts in the ring, the rest of the crowd realised as well. 

It was a dance more than a fight, Ned saw that now. They weaved between each other, sharp eyes and sharp smiles. They knew each other so well that the fight might almost have been forgone, the entire thing played out perfectly in their minds. 

A fist connected to ribs and Ned could hear Jacobs laughter, wild and joyful before Evie demanded his undivided attention with a series of quick jabs that left him gasping for breath.

It was impossible to tear his eyes from the scene. The crowd was raucous, but Ned was so enthralled by the scene that he barely heard the men and woman shouting around him. 

Finally, the fight neared its end.

“You’re a fool, brother of mine,” Evie said as she lightly pressed her foot to Jacob’s throat, seemingly the victor. Jacob lay still, a trickle of sweat running down his torso, disappearing in the dark curls on his chest. Both were breathing hard, Evie’s white blouse rippled with the movement. Her hair was almost entirely free of her braids now and she moved to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. 

Jacob smirked, and in a whirl of limbs too quick for Ned to follow, he suddenly had Evie pinned on her stomach. The crowd gasped as Jacob leant closer. Ned could barely make out the words “Are you su—“ before Evie did a complicated twist and pull of her legs. In a flash, she was straddling Jacob and attempted to pin his wrists above his head. Jacob was too fast, too strong, and flipped them again. This time Evie ended up on her back, Jacob between her legs, and Ned felt his blood rush south. The twins stilled for a moment in the obscene position, both panting hard and waiting for the other to move.

“It’s a draw!” Topping’s voice broke through the roar of the crowd after a few heartbeats, and Ned was glad that the spell of intimacy was suddenly broken. He stared at the twins as they helped each other to their feet, unsure if their hands truly lingered on each other, or if it was his over-eager imagination at work.

Jacob spat out a mouthful of blood as his Rooks surrounded him, wanting to hear how one trick or the other worked, and the man basked in the worship. He shone like that, Ned thought, surrounded by adoring recruits, sharing his hard-won knowledge.

Evie sat down heavily on the bleachers next to Ned and massaged her ribs. “We don’t often get to spar like that,” she said, a happy note to her voice that Ned hadn’t heard before. It made his heart tighten. “It must’ve been years.”

“If it had been a real fight,” Ned asked slowly, “who would have won?”

She shrugged. “Who knows. He’s stronger than me. I wouldn’t try to take him on in hand-to-hand combat, and he’s well aware. Trying to pin his hands was a foolish move, in a real fight I wouldn’t have tried that, I might just have stabbed him instead. But it would be a match of feints and traps instead, I think. Regardless, it would never come to that. Jacob and I have other ways to sort out our disagreements.” 

She smiled as she spoke, and Ned found his eyes drifting to her lips. Her lower lip had been broken in the fight. A narrow red gash cut through it, the lip slightly swollen and tender looking. He wanted to soothe the pain, rub his finger over it, his lips. He looked away as if he had been burnt, suddenly, irrationally afraid that she could read his mind. 

As the evening progressed, Ned found his attention drifting almost constantly whenever one of the twins was near him. When the wetness between his thighs grew too insistent to ignore, Ned excused himself. 

“I might just take you up on that bourbon some night or the other,” Evie said sweetly, and Ned felt his cheeks grow hot again.

“Anytime you like Miss Frye,” he stammered out before tipping his hat cursorily. “Jacob, thank you for the invitation, this evening was most enlightening.” He made his way past the twins, trying to stick close to the railing leading to the stairs. Jacob didn’t move, forcing Ned to squeeze past the still-half naked man, with an airy “excuse me”. Ned did his best not to dwell too much on how Jacob’s skin had felt against his fingers, how the curls on his chest were softer than he’d expected.

Ned tried not to look back when he made his way down the stairs, away from the noise and warm lights. Only later, in the comfort of his own bed, would he allow himself to entertain the idea that the two silhouettes watching him descend had been more than a figment of his imagination.


	2. Jacob

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [Kinyth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kinyth) who helped me with wrangling this into shape <3

It started with a letter, delivered to the train from the hands of a young boy with scuffed knees and a snotty nose.

“From mista Wynert, sir,” he’d said as he stood on the platform of Southwark. The kid had winced as the train horn blared, alerting everyone to its imminent departure. Still, he’d held onto the letter tightly until Jacob tossed him a bronze penny. The kid was tenacious, at the very least.

Jacob skimmed the note, short, but printed with a beautiful script. “A heist,” he said in answer to Evie’s lifted eyebrow. “Wynert has some cargo he’d like me to catch. Sounds like it might be some wine intended for Starrick’s cellar. ‘I hold you in my thoughts,’ he signed it, that’s a bit personal, innit?”

Evie tsked. “What about the plan? You were going to track down the man behind the soothing syrup?” Her voice was snippy and tight, but Jacob had learned to ignore that years earlier. 

“I’ll do that later tonight, this job’ll be quick.”

Her eyes shot disapproval at his back as he turned away. 

“People need our help, Jacob.”

“People always need our help. I’ll take care of the syrup afterwards.”

Disapproval radiated off of her as he walked towards the door, pointedly ignoring her. 

Jacob didn’t need long before he was ready to leave. He cleaned his hidden blade, checked that he had enough ammunition, and admired his new kukri for a moment. He still wasn’t convinced that using it was more satisfying than his trusty brass knuckles, but he couldn’t deny that it was quicker, and his knuckles weren’t constantly roughed up these days. 

With a flourish of anticipation he put on his coat and his hat, and with a satisfied grin, he cast a glance at himself in a reflective surface. 

He stared at his reflection for a moment. After a bit of contemplation, Jacob turned back to the clothings-rail. He discarded his sixpence hat, noting, as he tossed it onto the mass of torn and dirty clothes on the floor, how ratty it had become. He really ought to get a new one soon. Being seen in such patchy clothes was unbecoming. Instead, he pulled down a grey top hat with a red band, admiring the firmness and the springiness of the article. This would do nicely.

A train station near Camden was coming up. Close to his target. He still had a few minutes. He looked at his reflection again, trying a smirk this time. A giddy feeling of anticipation simmered in his belly.

Until he turned around and saw Evie staring at the top hat that was positioned slightly lopsided on his head. He’d thought that it looked a bit roguish that way, a bit _dashing_.

“What are you looking at me like that for?” Jacob straightened his hat self-consciously. “Is something wrong with my hat?”

“Hm,” Evie said and then she did that _thing_ with her face that had always absolutely enraged him, ever since childhood. The way her nose twitched slightly in distaste as if whatever he’d done or said was the dumbest thing in the world. It never failed to make his blood boil, and she fucking _knew_ it. 

The itch to indulge her was almost irresistible. Getting drawn into the senseless argument that she was angling for, and escalating the disagreement into a full-blown shouting match—it would be so easy, _had_ been so easy a million times before. It always ended with bruising kisses and Jacob feeling like he’d lost the argument.

He convinced himself to walk away. 

“I don’t have time for this. I’ve got a job to do.”

He never did anything for himself. He was going to do this one lousy job, just for the hell of it. He hardly needed someone amplifying the annoying voice at the back of his head that told him it was a bad idea.

He didn’t look back at his sister before he jumped out of the moving train, stumbling as he very nearly landed badly enough to twist an ankle.

Jacob shook himself. He needed to get his head on straight before he did something monumentally stupid.

The heist went as expected in the beginning.

Jacob found the wagon with the cargo easily enough, the Blighters never prioritised secrecy with these things. They were so certain that no one would try to steal from them. Stupid buggers, he thought with a smile on his lips. They really should be more careful. 

He took out a few of the stragglers, but the main group of Blighters were busy playing cards some yards away. No reason to engage. Evie would be proud that he chose secrecy over brute force, Jacob thought, his mood souring as he imagining her praising him in a patronising voice.

He landed lightly on the roof of the low shed near the small wagon. As he lowered himself to the ground, what little noise he made was masked by one of the Blighters being a very sore loser. The man was shouting and accusing one of the others of cheating, causing a ruckus loud enough to make passerby’s on the street look his way. Jacob rolled his eyes. The Rooks had people like that as well. Thankfully, they never caught Jacob cheating. Or maybe they just didn’t dare call him on it, he thought with a grin. Regardless, he found them tedious—one should learn to lose gracefully when gambling. He was grateful for the diversion today though, the brawl that was starting was most helpful.

He snuck closer to his target, crouching along next to some cargo. The horse had already been rigged. The crates in the back were secured. Excellent. Even if he’d planned it himself, this heist couldn’t have gone smoother. 

Of course, what he didn’t count on was that the mare was a contrary bastard. Usually, Jacob had nothing but love for horses, and he liked to think that the feeling was returned. This one could fall into a ditch for all he cared. If it didn’t get its bloody ass in gear, he might put it there himself soon enough.

The Blighters might be some inattentive fools even at the best of times, but Jacob had to do a fair bit of flailing and coaxing to get the animal going. The stubborn mule finally got an outburst out of him and they noticed him as he was manoeuvring the wagon out the alley. 

Jacob cursed again as he heard bullets whizz past him. The sound of breaking glass followed him out the narrow passage as the noise finally got the mare moving properly. One of the Blighters grabbed onto the wagon and the sound of galloping chased after him as he urged the horse into a mad dash through the streets.

Fuck. This would be more difficult than he’d hoped. 

“I have to admit that I’d hoped that you might bring back the goods intact, Mr Frye,” Ned’s lips were a tight line as he looked at the wagon a while later. Wine dripped from the underside. Reddish stains marred the wood on the few intact boxes. A shard of glass fell down with a cracking sound that made Jacob wince. 

“I uh... ran into a complication or two,” he shot Ned his most apologetic smile, the one that always made Evie soften a bit even when she was spitting mad at him. Maybe he could still get out of this disaster without ending up on Ned’s bad side. “I’m sure that I can find a way to make it up to you?”

The shorter man didn’t even look at him. “These bottles were… of a delicate vintage. What a loss.”

A Rook had jumped onto the carriage and was rifling through the broken glass. He extracted a few bottles that hadn’t been damaged and handed them to Ned. The thief took them gingerly, carefully keeping the droplets of liquid on the bottles from staining his white cuffs. He smiled as he looked up at Jacob, not a wide smile, but there was something teasing and pleasant about it that made the tension in Jacob’s chest lessen.

“At least I can have a taste—is that a bullet hole in your hat?”

Aghast, Jacob pulled it off. Ned was right, only an inch or so above the brim were two holes. “This was going to be my new favourite hat!” his voice was full of mock-chagrin as he poked a finger through the frayed entry-hole at the back, the soft, red and grey strands of fabric falling apart at the touch. Jacob smiled at Ned, expecting him to chuckle or acknowledge his joke, but the man was just staring at the hat, turning paler by the second. 

“Wynert?” Jacob moved a bit closer, brows knitting in concern. “Ned, you alright mate?”

Ned’s eyes darted from the hat to Jacob’s face, a strange look replacing the smile. “Your hat is ruined…”

“Most of my clothes have bullet holes, Wynert,” Jacob leaned forward, trying to catch the American’s gaze. They were close enough that he felt a thrill of excitement, but the other man didn’t seem to notice. “Part of my panache, don’t you think?”

Ned still didn’t hear him. He tightened his grip on the bottles in his hand, and Jacob pulled back slightly. “I’ll bring back the next shipment intact, I promise.”

“Yes, uh, the next shipment, for sure. I’ll uh… I’ll be in touch about that, I don’t have anymore heists lined up right away, but I’ll be in touch,” Ned stammered. 

He waved at his coachman and left Jacob behind without another word, confusion painted on the assassin’s face. 

Something had been strange about Ned, Jacob thought as he sat on the ceiling beams of the factory, idly observing the patterns of the guards. He was stalking the origin behind the soothing syrup. Much as he’d like to simply shoot the distribution boss from here, heavens knew that the man had enough lives on his conscience to deserve it tenfold, Jacob knew that he couldn’t. The warehouse was filled with innocent people and he wasn’t there to start a commotion. Besides, the information the man possessed was far more important than the satisfaction Jacob would get from killing him.

He looked down, deciding on a plan of action. There was no point in waiting any longer, he’d learned all that he could. As he crawled along the beam, he pondered the way Ned had refused to meet his eyes, how he had looked disappointed at first but then… guilty? Scared? Jacob frowned. That made no sense. 

A guard paused where Jacob wanted to jump down. He felt no remorse as he leapt onto the man, slitting his throat in a single smooth movement with his blade. The man collapsed with no sound other than a soft exhale and Jacob dragged the body behind a crate before anyone saw him lingering at the edge of the storey. 

From there, twisting the arm of the distribution boss and making his way through the building was a simple matter. Whispered threats and a tight grip on the man convinced him to follow Jacob’s lead perfectly, and he spilt his secrets in less than a minute. It was so satisfying when things came together that easily.

And now Jacob had a distillery to blow up.

Later, Jacob hopped onto the train with weary movements. He was bone-dead tired. Taking out the distillery hadn’t been easy, it had been packed with guards, and the fumes that he’d inhaled had almost knocked him out before he could exit the building.

He shook it off. He was home now. Finally. 

The train was silent apart from the sound of Evie’s fountain pen gliding over the paper. Jacob scuffed his boots as he entered the cabin, careful to make his presence known. He knew better than to sneak up on her. 

The tension of the night faded somewhat as he turned the corner and saw her look up at him—as she sat there, lit by a single oil-lamp her dark eyes seemed endlessly deep. Her hair was still braided, but a bit looser from the day. Jacob didn’t remember what she’d been up to, but he had no doubt that she’d been busy. 

Jacob had always appreciated how Evie looked in her usual gear. The corset, the tight pants, the thigh-high boots, the coat that she always got tailored so it hung just right. Even her excessive love for buckles. But as she was now, in only pants and her white shirt hanging off of one shoulder, she looked much softer than she usually did, and Jacob couldn’t help but pause. 

He hesitated for a moment in the doorway, taking her in, and the calm washed over him. Already, he felt a bit less frazzled, a bit less worn around the edges. 

Evie could read him like a book, always could. After a few seconds of him looking at her, she laid down the pen, meticulously wiped away the ink stains on the nib and put the utensil safely away.

He couldn’t tear his eyes from her as she came closer, her socks masking the soft shuffle of her feet. He saw the worry in her eyes as she took in the small lacerations on his face from the explosion, how he smelled of smoke and destruction. She let it slide, for now, knew that he needed a moment, and he loved her for it. She wrapped her arms around him, and he ached at the casual intimacy they shared now, finally, in this space that was theirs alone, if only in the darkest night.

After a few minutes, she finally spoke. “I heard someone blew up a factory?” her voice was soft and low and it wasn’t really a question.

“I’d wager it was a righteous act,” Jacob hummed, a bit of pride creeping into his voice, scratchier than usual from the smoke that he’d inhaled. 

Evie drew back for a moment, the small smile on her lips vanishing when she looked at him, taking him in again.

“What happened to your hat?” 

“It got shot.”

“What?”

“I’ll get a new one if you liked it so much.”

“It got shot? _You_ got shot?”

“Shot _at_. Not shot. It happens every day, sister dearest.”

“It shouldn’t. You’re reckless, Jacob.”

There was an echo of fear on her face, somehow similar to the one that Ned had given him, and Jacob felt a slow glimmer of realisation. But her eyes were turning harder by the second, and he focused his attention on distracting her instead of chasing stray thoughts. The moment was too perfect to be ruined by a fight. Jacob spun her around and pulled her close to his chest, her back fitting perfectly against him.

“You like it. You enjoy my dare-devil charm.”

“Not when you’re being foolhardy.”

Jacob ghosted his lips across her throat, smiling as a low moan escaped her. “Especially when I’m being foolhardy.”

“The blinds…”

“It’s the middle of the night, Eves, who’s going to see?”

“Foolha— _oh_!”

Jacob’s hands had wandered underneath her shirt and now cupped her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples. Shutting Evie up had always been a favourite thing for Jacob to do, and he’d been delighted when he’d found out that this was an effective method to do so.

One of his hands moved lower, making small circles on her stomach, slowly inching further down. Her breath hitched slightly as he started undoing her trousers, a murmur of impatience from her as he struggled with a stubborn button for a few seconds. As a reply, he halted his hands and kissed the space between her jaw and her throat until she whined and he couldn’t help but continue. 

He knew that she wanted him to go faster. She squirmed beneath his hands when he slid his hand into the soft tuft of hair and into the wetness there. He went slower still, barely grazing her most sensitive spot, fingers ghosting across her as she grew more and more vocal. 

Sometimes it still amazed him that she was so responsive to him, that she let him do this— _him_ —and his patience was unravelling. He turned her by her hip and picked her up, easily carrying her the few steps to the bed.

As he put her down on her back she kissed him, hard and deep, pulling him down with her. After a long minute, when her hands started to wander, he drew back, satisfaction coursing through him as she stretched towards him. He hovered over her for a moment, taking in the way a flush had painted her cheeks red. The redness bloomed on her throat and disappeared under her shirt, and Jacob pushed it up to her collarbone, laying bare her breasts, exposing her in a way that he knew made her both uncomfortable and aroused. Evie was breathing hard now, and he admired how the flush was spreading on her chest, interrupted by her dark freckles and small beads of moisture.

“Stop staring at me,” she muttered half-heartedly, her voice tinged with an edge of desire that Jacob couldn’t resist. He kissed her again, gasping as she wrapped her legs around him, the heat of her tangible even through his pants and hers.

He pushed against her, harder than he wanted though Evie didn’t mind. There was an urgency in his movements that he hadn’t anticipated, the weight of the day finally cut loose now that he was here with her.

When he felt himself nearing completion, Jacob paused, smiling despite the strain as Evie groaned impatiently beneath him. She shifted, urging him to continue, but instead, he untangled her legs and folded them over his shoulders. 

A pleased moan escaped her when he dipped between her legs, a soft gasp at the first touch of his tongue. He nibbled at her inner thighs, teasing with gentle scrapes of teeth, moving closer and closer until she finally buried a hand in his hair and urged him to her centre. 

Jacob released a huff of laughter and gave her a fraction of what she wanted. His touch was fleeting, tongue lapping at the slick folds, pressing inside for a moment only to retract. Her hand in his hair tightened and Jacob relished the sting of the pull. 

“Please,” her voice was a whimper, almost low enough that Jacob didn’t hear it. 

He made a low rumble. “You beg so prettily, Eves.”

“Jacob, please, I need—” 

“I know what you need, sweetness,” he said, looking up at her, drinking in the sight. Her shirt was still pushed up above her breasts, the fabric tightening as she moved. 

A smile stretched his lips as he dipped back down, licking into her with more purpose, more intent. She was trying so hard to be quiet now, muffling her sounds with the back of her hand, but Jacob knew she was getting close.

As he brought her closer to the edge, balancing her pleasure as he’d done so many times before, he wondered if Ned would taste the same. Feel the same. He certainly wouldn’t make the same sounds as Evie did, he was sure that the desperate whine when he flicked his tongue just right was uniquely _Evie._

“Are you thinking of him?” her voice broke a bit as Jacob grazed the bundle of nerves again.

The question took Jacob unaware. He paused for a moment. “Yes.” Lying to Evie never even crossed his mind. When she didn’t continue, he leant back in, touching her reverently as he found the spot he knew she liked.

Evie moaned again, but after a moment, she pushed him away and stared down at him. “Wait. Are you… Do you have _feelings_ for him?”

Jacob had had a long day. He sat back on his heels, slicking his hair back into place, trying to ignore the way Evie’s scent lingered on his fingers, his lips. “What is your _problem_ , Evie? I thought you liked him well enough?”

“I thought you wanted to fuck him! A fling! Not something… more than that!” Evie sat up and her shirt fell back into place.

“Wha—I’m not allowed to want more? 

“Of course you are,” Evie turned her head from him, an unwelcome tightness in her shoulders. Despite it, she looked soft, with her messy hair coming undone and her well-kissed lips. Jacob ached with how much he wanted her, even when she was being obtuse. “You just never have before.” 

She still wouldn’t look at him, and it was difficult to miss the way her fingers laced together, how they parted and didn’t settle anywhere. Evie didn’t fidget. Evie was always in control. Calm. Collected. Now her freckled cheeks were flush with emotion and Jacob felt some of his anger dissipate.

Jacob moved to sit on the bed next to Evie, smacking her gently when she didn’t move immediately. After a moment of tension, she relaxed and let him wrap an arm around her. 

They sat in silence for a bit, leaning on each other. 

“I’m not a hypocrite, Jacob. I’d never dream to deny you whatever this is, I just... “ she looked uncomfortable like this, Jacob thought, raw in a strange fashion. Struggling to find words when she always knew just what to say. “I assumed…” Evie fell silent again. 

Jacob stared out the window. The train tracks were quiet this late at night. He was accustomed to the silence, he’d spent more nights than he could count on a rooftop while everyone else slept. But still… everything seemed to be standing still in a way that he wasn’t used to. 

He waited for long minutes, hoping she would finish. Finally, he broke the silence, unable to stand it any longer. “You know… When you were with Henry, I was afraid that you’d leave me for good.” 

She shuffled next to him, her warm shape moving against his torso in a way that was achingly familiar. Jacob didn’t look down, couldn’t bear it. He stared out at the tracks, hoping that she would understand. 

“You never said anything.” Her voice was smaller than usual.

Jacob shrugged, trying to ignore the way her words weren’t a denial, but they weren’t a concession either. “It’s your life. I can’t decide where you go.”

The silence stretched out. They’d never sat like this together, talked about other people before. Their arrangement had never been put into words, they’d never discussed how it should work. It had just happened because she was _Evie_ and he was _Jacob_. 

He was fairly sure that he didn’t like the whole ‘talking’ part of it.

“Sometimes you’re cleverer than me, you know,” Evie said, a note of teasing in her voice now. He looked down and when he saw the glint in her eye, he knew that they would be alright. “Even when you reek of smoke.”

“I’ll remind you of that the next time you say my ideas are stupid.”

“I’ll deny everything.”

He felt his grin slide back into place and turned to trap her between his hands, hovering above her again. She lifted an eyebrow at him, and he leaned in to kiss her, letting her taste herself on his lips. 

When she started shifting beneath him, her fingers searching for her centre in frustration, he took her hands in his and kissed his way down her neck, lingering at every freckle, enjoying the way his beard scratched softly at her skin. 

She whimpered with desire, but Jacob was determined to go slow, to show her how deep his affection ran, how wholly he was hers. Action always came easier to him than words. He kissed her hip bone, breathed in her smell, and urged her to surrender to the pleasure with every touch.

And she did. Evie gasped and moaned so prettily that he thought he would never do anything but this again. 

Afterwards, when Evie returned the favour and showed him just how slow _she_ could go, there was the smallest twinge of regret, of frustration that he’d brought this upon himself, but it was soon drowned in an ocean of pleasure.

When both their breathing had slowed again, Jacob spoke, words coming out slowly. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think he’s interested. Ned, I mean.”

Evie’s laugh was exhausted and low, but there was no trace of malice in her voice. “I saw him at the ring, Jacob. Trust me, he’s definitely interested.”

“You didn’t see him today. He was distant—like… I don’t know. Like he didn’t really see me.”

“I’m sure it’ll work out, Jacob,” she yawned and closed her eyes, stretching her arms above her head. She was loose-limbed now. All the tension from their discussion had faded from her body. With his fingertips, he traced the freckles down her throat again, gliding over her shoulders, her chest, her ribs until she giggled and shied away from him. “That tickles. Go to sleep, dear.”

Sleep didn’t come. Something was niggling at the back of his mind, churning in the background. Despite the pleasant aches in his body and the memory of Evie beneath him, gasping and burying her fingers in his hair, something bothered him. 

He got up on his elbow and leant over her still form. “Evie…” his voice a whisper. 

She didn’t open her eyes. “Yes, Jacob?”

“Ned… At the ring... You looked at him too.” It was a question, and yet it wasn’t. 

A huff of amusement. “I’m not going to steal him away, love, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ll stay out of your way if you want me to.”

Jacob kissed her shoulder and laid back again, feeling lighter and more at ease already.

He was almost asleep, his breathing deep and steady, when he heard Evie’s voice, a whisper so low that he knew she didn’t mean for him to hear it. 

“I don’t think I could bear it if you left me—for him or anyone.” 

As he drifted away, the last words he heard made him struggle to come back to wakefulness.

“I know I can’t control this, but… I hope you’ll stay with me.” The sadness in her voice made Jacob ache with the need to comfort her, to hold her tighter and say _I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me,_ but it was too late and sleep overtook him. 

The next morning, he wanted to talk to her, to tell her that he would never leave her, he couldn’t, _never_ , but the moment had passed. Evie was already deeply immersed in her research when he woke up and he wasn’t sure how to broach the subject, especially once Agnes woke up and the train started coming alive. 

With a bitter taste in his mouth, Jacob chalked the words up to another unspoken secret between them, but when he went out, he made sure to find a florist. He left with a bouquet of tarragon and purple and yellow flowers, rather convinced that this whole “flower language” business that Evie was so enamoured by was a scam. 


End file.
